“Don’t you remember in _A Lawless Love_, how often it’s mentioned, and how glorious and golden it was? Well, I have never seen it till now, but now I _have_ seen it!” If you had n’t seen Ambrose Tester, the best description I could give of him would be to say that he looked like Roland Tremayne. I don’t know whether that hero was a “strong Liberal,” but this is what Sir Ambrose is supposed to be. (He succeeded his father two years ago, but I shall come to that.) He is not exactly what I should call thoughtful, but he is interested, or thinks he is, in a lot of things that I don’t understand, and that one sees and skips in the newspapers,--volunteering, and redistribution, and sanitation, and the representation of minors--minorities--what is it? When I said just now that he is always laughing, I ought to have explained that I did n’t mean when he is talking to Lady Vandeleur. She makes him serious, makes him almost solemn; by which I don’t mean that she bores him. Far from it; but when he is in her company he is thoughtful; he pulls his golden mustache, and Roland Tremayne looks as if his vision were turned in, and he were meditating on her words. He does n’t say much himself; it is she--she used to be so silent--who does the talking. She has plenty to say to him; she describes to him the charms that she discovers in the path of duty. He seldom speaks in the House, I believe, but when he does it’s offhand, and amusing, and sensible, and every one likes it. He will never be a great statesman, but he will add to the softness of Dorsetshire, and remain, in short, a very gallant, pleasant, prosperous, typical English gentleman, with a name, a fortune, a perfect appearance, a devoted, bewildered little wife, a great many reminiscences, a great many friends (including Lady Vandeleur and myself), and, strange to say, with all these advantages, something that faintly resembles a conscience. II.